getting ready

I've been playing around with the paintings for the show.  It feels very nostalgic.  My grandfather owned a clothing store where I got to work for several years.  I loved to change the displays and stage the windows.  This feels a little bit like that.  Only, Bumpie isn't at my house to add a pair of work boots and woolen socks. 

*fifty points if you can find the stealth fighter jet, zebra, and old brown pickup truck.

For a show this weekend...

I'm joining my mom and sister this weekend at a craft show. 

Super pumped to be spending Saturday with a few of my favorite ladies selling our wares.

If you are near Lake City, MN, come and say hello!

Banana Bread - for my doll

I'm baking banana bread today.  I decided a long time ago (probably when I was hungry) that I'd like my kids to have me baking as part of their growing up experience.  I have a glass cake dome on my counter that I try to keep filled with some sort of baked situation.

While I was mixing up the batter, I started thinking about my girl.  How one day, when she has a kitchen of her own, I'd like her to have a starter set of recipes at her disposal.

So, over the course of time, I'm going to compile some those recipes here.

Starting with:

 Banana Bread
(Great Grandma Delores)

1/2 cup sugar
1/2 cup butter - softened (or melted if you want to hurry)
2 or 3 mashed bananas
3 eggs
1 tsp vanilla
1/2 cup buttermilk (which we never have on hand so I sour skim milk with vinegar-just a drop)

2 cups flour
1 tsp baking soda
1/2 tsp baking powder
pinch of salt

Mix the first six ingredients in the order listed.  Make sure to cream the butter and sugar first.  I usually use a potato masher to smush up the bananas, and then just keep mashing all the other wet ingredients with that.

Next, you can dump the next 4 ingredients into a pile on top of the banana mixture.  Take a second to fluff the soda and powder into the flour (with your *clean-of-course* fingers) and then fold it all together.

I usually divide this between 2 bread pans, or use it all in one bundt pan, and before placing it in the oven, I top it with sugar.  (Raw is best, but regular cane will do just fine.)

Bake at 325 for 45 minutes to an hour.  (A knife inserted should come out clean when it's done.)


This is a nice basic banana bread recipe, but it also loves to be jazzed up.  You know how much your mother loves to jazz things up.  Coconut, walnuts, chocolate chips...by themselves or all together make it extra special.

xoxo

thirteen

here's to one and only one

and may that one be he,

who loves but one and only one

and may that one be me.

~unknown

spider moms

"What are you painting, Mom?

"It's a Spider Mum."

"A Mom Spider?  Oh I see, Mom."

Little House Style and also? Poetry.

The power went out today.  For about 45 minutes?  It wasn't out for very long, but it just happened to go out 4 minutes after I started browning hamburger for tonight's dinner.  My stove is electric.  So, you know, a problem presented itself.  However, because I am Laura Ingalls Wilder, I took my iron skillet and put it in my grill outside.  That grill sure did the trick.

I felt very....I don't know....resourceful is a bit too strong...quick thinking?  Brilliant?  Handsome, regal, majestic. Lovable, yes, yes. Cuddly...whatever, it just felt good. 

And it tasted good. 

Also, as I was looking for the post about simplicity that I linked to under Laura Ingalls, I found this little snippet hiding in my archives.  (My archives.  Psh.) 

I leave you with:

untitled

They walked together.
The hour was late.
He walked ahead,
to open the gate.
She wanted to thank him,
but didn't know how.
He was the farmer.
And she was the cow.

And still, I remember. As if It happened yesterday

(a repost)

On Friday, September 7th, 2001, I was on my way to an evening design class. The road I was on had a series of synchronized lights...the kind where you could get through all of them if you pushed it, just a little. The car in front of me was getting us through them...we were nearly at the end of the set, when the last one turned yellow. The gal in front of me stepped it up, and so did I. I reached down to grab something out of my back pack and looked up. She was hammering her breaks. I hammered, too. But it was too late. The roads were just a little wet, and I rear ended her.

I got out of the car in a panic. Was she okay? She was okay. I was a wreck. I was crying. I felt horrible. Her lovely car had one little schmick in her bumper. My neon was a crumpled up mess. I called my dad, who was also, conveniently, my insurance agent. He arrived. The police arrived. My husband arrived. I couldn't stop crying.

The poor sweet lady I ran into was so lovely and gracious. She reassured me that everything would be just fine. It was so bizarre. When all was said and done, my husband drove me to my class. My neon went to the shop. The nice lady drove herself home, with my insurance information. The police gave me a ticket, because insult and injury go hand in hand.

The next morning, I woke up very stiff. And emotional. I was about to grab a handful of Advil, when it occurred to me that something else was rather amiss. I took a test. It had two lines.

I did not take the Advil.

The rest of the weekend went by with me in a state of shock and a state of shock.

That next Tuesday, I said goodbye to my husband as he left for his daily college routine. I was getting ready for classes in the same way I always did...breakfast at the coffee table while watching Good Morning America. A plane hit the World Trade Center. Watching in disbelief, a second plane hit.

What is going on?

What is going on?

I watched until I had to leave to get to class. On the drive over, the radio spoke about the Pentagon. All the pieces were beginning to come together.

I parked my husband's truck in my parking lot, and began the 7 block trek to the Apparel, Textile, and Interior Design building. Something hot began to pinch my arm. A bee. I was being stung by a bee. It made me angry. I stepped out of character and squished it with my hand.

I ruined my car. We were having a baby. Something horrible was happening in our Country. I got stung by a bee.

I made it to class, and there were only 2 other people that showed up. Everyone was moving around really slowly. Televisions all around campus were tuned into live coverage.

I went to grab a coffee. Brought it back to the studio, and decided to work on my project. As I rendered the office space I had been working on, life felt very different. What am I doing? An Interior Designer? How do we change the world? What kind of world is this to be bringing a baby into? My arm hurts, stupid bee. What do we all do now?

once again

Another day of firsts. 
Homework pencils are sharpened.  Ready.



So were they.  

This was a big day for two big kids. 

They couldn't wait.

(I could wait.)